


Jeeves and the Tale of Abington Chase

by skyblue_reverie



Series: skyblue_reverie's jeeves & wooster 'verse [5]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyblue_reverie/pseuds/skyblue_reverie
Summary: Jeeves tells Bertie a little about his past.  Dark, but hurt/comfort-y.





	Jeeves and the Tale of Abington Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006 and posted on LJ, now x-posting on AO3.

‘Jeeves,’ I said one evening while cosily snuggled into my valet's strong arms, both of us as naked as the day we were born. Not that we were born on the same day, of course. ‘I don't understand why you won't tell me. I must confess I'm rather mystified and a bit hurt.’

‘I shouldn't like to bore you with a long, pointless tale, sir,’ he said, and then proceeded to forestall any further response on my part by applying his mouth to mine and keeping my tongue rather too occupied to form any words other than ‘mmmmfff’ and ‘unnnhhh,’ which aren't really much use in pursuing intelligent conversation.

Stop the clock, hold the presses. I see I've gone off the rails again. I suppose I should begin at the beginning, as the King of Hearts told that White Rabbit chap. Sound advice, that. 

Still, it's always a bother to decide how much background to bung into one of these memoirs of mine. I mean to say, put too much in, and the long-time reader is bored to tears, and put in too little, and the newcomer is at a loss, throws up his hands in disgust, and walks away. This calculation of mine is further complicated by the fact that if you're reading this, you've come across Jeeves's secret stash of notes and we two are either in chokey or else doing the rumba in some far-off land that doesn't look askance at two chaps who happen to be each other's One True Love.

However, putting aside the wherefores and whys for the moment, as even the new reader may have gathered by now, Jeeves and I have tied the metaphorical knot, because, as Jeeves informs me, the law in its majesty and the good old C. of E. have decreed that we can't tie the literal one. Deuced odd, I know, but there it is. Not that there's any actual knot-tying that goes on at any of the marriage ceremonies I've ever been to, though I wouldn't be at all surprised if a few of the grooms felt as if a noose were being slipped tight around the neck area. I know I should have done if I were standing next to any of those beazels. Luckily, I have Jeeves to protect me from such a fate.

Which brings me round to where I started. Having plighted our troth, and taken our honeymoon, we had passed a few months in connubial bliss. There had been a few bumps in the road, as is inevitable when two men of iron will live in close proximity, but we had managed to work out the kinks, so to speak, and everything was boomps-a-daisy.

So there we were, lying in a state of post-whatsit satisfaction, and I brought up once more a topic which had been on my mind over the past several days. 

‘Jeeves, how did you get that charmingly crooked nose?’

‘Sir, as I have told you, I broke it as a youth and it set badly.’

‘Yes, yes, I know. But surely there's more to the story than that.’ I don't know why, but it had become rather an obsession of mine to find out the answer to this question. I suppose I was rather like a child who's been told it can't have a particular toy, so of course it wants that bauble with a passionate intensity over all others.

‘It is nothing worth telling, sir,’ he said, stroking his fingers through my hair in a soothing fashion. 

‘Jeeves, I don't understand why you won't tell me. I must confess I'm rather mystified and a bit hurt.’

‘I shouldn't like to bore you with a long, pointless tale, sir,’ he said, kissing me. Clearly he was trying to distract me, and although it was tempting to drop the subject in favour of further explorations of that talented mouth of his, after the kiss had ended and I had caught my breath a bit, I returned to the subj. at hand.

‘There's more to it than that, Jeeves. It's obvious that you don't want to tell me. I imagine that it's some embarrassing story that doesn't cast you in your usual brilliant and competent light. But we are – well, we are – ‘ I broke off here in some confusion. How to articulate what we were to each other?

‘Lovers, sir?’ Jeeves said in that thrilling voice of his, and it's a good job I was already lying down or I may well have swooned.

‘Well, yes, Jeeves,’ I said when I had regained my wits, ‘but more than that – we are _in love_ with each other, and we should be able to confide in each other. You have seen me at my worst, after all, and you've written it up in that club book of yours to boot!’

He opened his mouth to interject, but I stopped him. ‘No, no, Jeeves, it's all right, I don't mind you writing about my foibles in that blasted book. But you know everything about me, and I know dashed little about you. I should like to know this one thing.’

He looked at me in some amusement. ‘Perhaps, sir, you would know more about me if you did not interrupt me each time I attempt to share something of my past. I am minded of the time just yesterday when I began an anecdote about my Uncle Charlie, and you suggested that I save Uncle Charlie 'for the long winter nights,' sir.’

I blushed a bit. The fellow was right, after all, and yet – ‘But Jeeves,’ I persevered. ‘I don't give two figs – not even _one_ blasted fig – for your Uncle Charlie. I want to know about _you_. Particularly, I want to know about your nose. I give you my word as a Wooster that I will carry your secret with me to the grave.’

He became serious. ‘Sir, I take your point, and I trust in your discretion. I will tell you anything else about myself that you wish to know. But I ask that you not press me on this matter. It is not for my own sake that I hesitate, but for yours. I would not wish to cause you pain. There are abhorrent things in the world, and you should not have to dwell upon them. I should not be able forgive myself were I to cause you to be aware of such distressing matters.’

I drew myself up as well as I could from my position in his arms. ‘Jeeves, you wound me. I am not a child who needs your protection. I lost my own parents when I was quite young, as you know, so I am not unaware of the darker side of life. If you do not wish to tell me, I shall not press the point any further, but if your only reason is some misguided effort to spare my finer feelings, then I must say I am disappointed.’

He was quiet for some time.

‘Sir, I confess, that is not the only reason. If I tell you, you may look upon me… differently. I could not bear to look into your eyes and see revulsion, or pity.’

I scoffed at this. ‘Jeeves, I could never feel disgust or pity for you. Whatever your secret may be, I give you my word that I will not think less of you for it.’

There was another longish pause while Jeeves regarded me, seeming to peer into the depths of my psyche, if that's the word I want – starts with a ‘ps’ anyway. Dashed strange combination of letters, if you ask me. In any case, I gazed steadily back. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said finally. ‘I hope I do not give you cause to regret those words. These are events of which I have never spoken, so I trust that you will forgive me if it takes me longer than usual to collect my thoughts.’

‘Jeeves, stop hedging and get on with it!’ I exclaimed, exasperated. He threw me a quelling glance, and I subsided.

‘When I was ten years of age, sir,’ he began, and I interrupted him. 

‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘this story will bally well take an eternity to tell if you insist upon 'sir'ing me at every moment. You know how much I respect your feudal spirit. But can't you drop the formalities this once?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Very well, s-… Very well. On this one occasion, I will dispense with the honorific. But do not expect me to make a habit of it,’ he said sternly.

I shivered pleasurably at his commanding tone of voice, more nakedly powerful without the polite ‘sir’ appended. I saw that he was looking at me expectantly, awaiting some sort of response, so I nodded meekly, and he continued.

‘When I was ten years of age, I was sent by my family to live at a manor house some distance away to train to be a manservant. It is an honourable profession, and one that many of the gentlemen of my family have followed. I had previously been a page-boy at a school for young ladies, but there was little opportunity for advancement in that position. Therefore, I went to Abington Chase and took up my post as a hall-boy, sleeping under the stairs and performing the meanest of the household duties – polishing the other servants' boots, emptying chamberpots, and the like.’ 

I stirred a bit restlessly and Jeeves stopped his narrative to look at me as I spoke up again. ‘Jeeves, I begin to suspect that this is going to be an epic-length tale. I wanted to know about your nose, you know, old chap; I didn't ask for your entire life story.’

‘You did express the wish to know more about me, sir,’ he said mildly, but I could see the fellow was a bit hurt. ‘A certain amount of background information is necessary to tell this tale. However, if you do not wish to hear it, I shall stop now.’ He looked almost hopeful that I would let him off the hook.

‘No, Jeeves, I do want to hear. Carry on, old thing,’ I said, chastened. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts once more, then began again.

‘I was a quiet child, reserved and solemn by nature. As such, I was not popular among the other servants. They thought me haughty, and believed that I acted above my station. The other boys my age were mischievous and boisterous, engaging in sporting contests in their off-duty hours, while I preferred to spend my time alone, reading an improving book.’

‘Just as you do now, eh? I can just see it,’ I interjected. ‘I'll wager you were quite a handsome young chap, even then, eh, Jeeves?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I was somewhat… delicate. I'm afraid that, as I was the newest boy, and as I did not fit in with the other boys, I was often the target of unpleasant practical jests and even physical violence.’

I shivered in sympathy. ‘Boys can be deuced unpleasant creatures. I went to public school, you know, Jeeves, so I know whereof I speak. Why, one time, Kipper Herring spread butter all over my…’ I broke off, embarrassed. ‘But here I am, babbling about myself, in the middle of your story. I apologize. Carry on, Jeeves.’

He looked slightly disappointed when I ceased my prattling, bringing to mind the old wheeze about there being a first time for everything, but he picked up his narrative again. ‘I passed approximately two years in relative isolation. I learned to avoid the worst of the bullying, though I still had no close friends among the other boys. The house cook, a Mrs Martha Sneddon, took a motherly interest in me, and always made certain that I had enough to eat and a quiet place in a corner of the kitchen in which to read. She also saw to it that I was given permission to take lessons with the local schoolchildren, when my duties allowed. Each evening, after I had completed my chores, and after the other servants had gone to sleep, I worked late into the night on my studies at the hearth in the kitchen. I have never forgotten her kindness.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘She warned me to stay away from him as much as I could, but at the time, I could not fathom what she meant.’

‘Warned you to stay away from whom, Jeeves?’ I asked, confused.

‘The butler, Walter Highstead. As all male servants in a household ultimately report to the butler, he was my superior. He was a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman with a genial manner. We had little interaction, as I was only a lowly hall-boy, and he had responsibility over the entire household, but he always seemed pleasant.’

‘Then why would she warn you to stay clear of him, Jeeves?’ I queried with some befuddlement.

‘I shall come to that in due time. Have patience, sir,’ he said when he saw my perplexed and impatient expression.

‘Ah, is this going to be like one of those dashed exciting mystery novels, Jeeves? 'The butler did it!' or some such?’

A shadow passed across his finely chiselled features, though I could not understand why. My comment seemed to me rather innocuous. He began speaking again, though, before I could puzzle it out.

‘No, sir, this is not a mystery story. In any event, my life continued in this vein for some time. At twelve, I was promoted to houseman, a great honour for one so young. When I was fourteen, I was promoted to junior footman, a rise in station which some found shocking. There were ugly mutterings from certain quarters about my precipitous rise in rank. However, it was around this time that I found to my relief that the other boys my own age no longer spent their time finding ways to torment me – they had found other diversions. They had, in fact, discovered the attractions of the fairer sex. It was around this same time that I realized that my own yearnings were somewhat… less conventional.’

‘Er, you mean that rather than wanting to find some young female to take on a romantic moonlit stroll, you'd prefer to take that r. m. s. with another chap?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘It was clear to me that I had no desire to pursue any particular intimacy with the females of my acquaintance, and that any amorous or sentimental urges I felt would be directed towards members of my own sex instead.’

I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Jeeves, you amaze me. You say that you discovered this all on your own? I had no idea such things were possible until you… that is, until we… Well, you know.’ The old Wooster map was a bit red at this point. 

He cleared his throat delicately. ‘Indeed, sir. Such things were whispered of in tones of contempt among the servants, and I knew even then that it would be necessary to conceal my nature. In any event, just after my fifteenth birthday, I was given my first assignment as a valet – that of serving as attendant to the young master of the house, Mr Leighton's only son, Philip. It was an extraordinary honour for one my age, practically unheard of, and I was anxious to acquit myself well. Looking back on it now, I am forced to wonder if the entire situation had been contrived. At the time, however, I was merely proud and pleased that I was considered worthy of such responsibility at such a young age.

‘Young Philip was different than the rough servant boys I knew. He was only a year older than I, yet he seemed worldly and sophisticated. He was graceful and fine of feature, with soft hands, quite unlike my own, which were roughened by work. He rode and hunted, and had travelled to the continent with his father, while I had never been farther from my home than Abington Chase. He spoke French and Latin in addition to English, while I had never studied another language. He was well-read and well-educated, having studied under private tutors and at England's finest schools. 

‘When he discovered my thirst for knowledge, he shared his books with me, and helped me to understand them. We spent many hours discussing philosophy, poetry, and history. He taught me a bit of French, and a few words of Latin as well. We became friends, and then one evening, much to my surprise, lovers as well. In this, as in all else, he was clearly more experienced than I, although our explorations were relatively innocent.’

‘Were you…’ I faltered. ‘Were you in love with him, Jeeves?’ I asked. I felt rather a pang around my middle region at the thought. This chap sounded like he suited Jeeves to a T – brainy and sophisticated and thingummy. I felt rather dim and uncultured by comparison.

He looked at me fondly. ‘No, sir, I was not. I found him fascinating, and I suppose I was infatuated with him. But we were both too young and callow to feel real love.’

‘But, I mean to say, a handsome and brilliant fellow such as yourself – you must have made a few conquests before me, eh, Jeeves? Were any of them of the true love variety?’ I wasn't sure why I was pressing this topic – it wasn't quite the gentlemanly thing to do, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. But somehow the question came tumbling out anyway.

‘It is true that I have shared intimate relations with others before I entered your service, sir,’ he said soothingly, ‘but those encounters were simply a mutually agreeable way of fulfilling physical needs. I have never loved anyone before you, and I shall never love anyone else.’

I blinked rapidly to clear away some suspicious moisture that had gathered in the ocular region – a bit of dust must have fallen into my eyes. ‘I'm very glad to hear that, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘And, er, you do know that I feel the same about you, old chap, what?’

‘I had gathered that impression, sir,’ he said, with a small quirk of the left side of his mouth, which I find bally well irresistible, as he well knows. I slid the old digits into the downy hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

After a few moments of diversion, I released him. ‘Er, sorry, old thing,’ I said. ‘Please do carry on.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ he said, with slight amusement. Then his voice grew more grave as he spoke again. ‘I am afraid, sir, that this story has no happy ending. I should have predicted it then, but I was young and foolish.’

‘Well, Jeeves, we can all be forgiven a certain amount of youthful indiscretion,’ I said. ‘I jolly well know I got into my fair share of scrapes in my younger days.’

‘Yes, sir, gentlemen of your class and social standing are allowed a certain leeway for youthful high spirits, as you say. The servant classes, however, are not permitted such license.’

I frowned slightly at this. I had never really thought of it like that. Before I could properly chew it over, though, he continued.

‘In any event, to render a long story somewhat shorter, my illicit relationship with Philip Leighton continued for some months. Then, one evening, we were discovered _in flagrante delicto_ , as the Latin phrase has it. By Mr Highstead, the butler.’

‘Golly, Jeeves,’ I said, my heart going out to him.

‘Indeed, sir.’ Then he looked away from me and began speaking again, in almost a flat tone of voice, as if he were reciting the local train-table. This is what he said.

***

Highstead took in our state of _deshabille_ in a mere instant, and in that instant, I felt that I was ruined. Here was shame and disaster for me, as well as my entire family. Equally distressing to me, I believed that this revelation would bring disaster and ruination upon Philip and the Leighton family as well. I did not fully understand, at that time, the way in which the upper classes are shielded from scandal and disgrace.

Highstead ordered us to get dressed. Then he told me to go wait for him in his study, while he had words with Philip. There was no question of disobeying him. He was my direct superior, and he was the Leightons' most trusted family retainer. We hastily dressed, and then I left the room. 

I waited in his small study with a feeling of dread unlike any I had ever known. It seemed to me that an eternity passed while I waited alone in that room. As soon as he entered the room, however, I fervently wished that I were once again alone.

On the surface, he appeared as pleasant as ever, but there was something in his eyes that caused me no small amount of fear. He locked the door behind him as he entered.

‘So, young Reginald, you're an invert – a perverted little sodomite,’ he began in a calm, unruffled tone.

I became flustered – I had never heard these terms before, but I could well suppose what they meant. 'Sir?' I asked unsteadily.

‘Oh, don't play games with me, Reginald. We both know what you are; now the only question is what we're going to do about it. I don't suppose you'd like to lose your position? Or for your family to find out about your recent activities?’

‘No, sir,’ I said.

‘Or what about their acquaintances and neighbours? How would you like it if all of your mother's church-friends and your father's chums down at the pub were to discover your… proclivities?’

‘Please, no, sir,’ I whispered.

‘I shouldn't be surprised – you've always been a foppish young thing, too pretty for your own good. I personally ensured your rapid advancement because I erroneously believed that you were worthy of the honour. Others warned me that you acted above yourself, but I paid them no mind. Now I see how my kindness to you has been repaid. Clearly you believe that you are too good to be a servant.’

‘No, sir,’ I tried to protest, but he cut me off, suddenly becoming infuriated.

‘Don't you talk back to me, boy,’ he hissed, somehow with more menace than if he had been shouting. ‘If you want to get out of this with your position in this household secure and your family's good name intact, you will do exactly as I tell you. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said. I knew that if there were any way to salvage my family's honour, I would take it. 

‘Good,’ he said, in a somewhat calmer tone. ‘Take down your trousers and bend over my desk.’

‘Sir?’ I asked, unsure.

In an instant the rage was back and he leaned into my face, speaking furiously. ‘Do not make me repeat myself again, Reginald. Take down your trousers and bend over my desk.’ This time he enunciated every word as if I were a small child.

My face flamed, but I did as he said. I knew that the smaller boys sometimes received a paddling for their pranks; however, generally the older boys suffered loss of pay or privileges for any misconduct. Still, if a paddling was all I would receive, I was grateful.

As I lay bent over his desk, I heard his voice. ‘I don't want to hear a single sound out of you, Reginald, do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said, and then I clenched my jaw as tight as I could.

I waited for a blow, but it never came. Instead, I felt his finger run over the curve of my buttocks, and he chuckled. Then I heard him opening the fastenings of his own trousers. In that instant, I realized that my assumption had been quite mistaken. He had never been planning to paddle me – his intentions were entirely different. I had no further time to contemplate, as he stepped close behind me and entered me, forcing himself inside of me. This was something that Philip and I had never done, and I was quite unprepared for the pain. I felt myself tear and I stifled my cry. This seemed to please him, and he chuckled again, before he began to move. I focused my attention on the scratches on the surface of his desk, and the sound of the silver carriage-clock ticking a few inches from my face. Still, I could not escape what was happening to me. 

I will not further belabour his actions. Suffice it to say that by the time he had finished, I had never felt more utterly debased. 

After he pulled out of me and refastened his trousers, he gave my buttocks a slap and told me that I could get dressed again. He watched as I attempted to regain some semblance of dignity, and chuckled at my efforts. I forced my reactions below the surface, telling myself that I could contend with my emotions later. When I was once again presentable, he spoke.

‘You did well, Reginald,’ he said. ‘That wasn't so very bad, was it?’ he asked, almost affably.

I said nothing, and merely looked at him blankly. His face darkened. ‘Back to your superior ways, eh? Well, you don't look so superior bent over my desk. You will come back to this study any time I tell you to, if you wish to keep this position that you so despise, and to preserve your family's reputation. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said.

‘Further,’ he said, the menacing tone back, ‘you will never breathe a word of this to anyone, and you will never again be alone with Philip Leighton. You will also never speak of the perversions that you inflicted upon him.’ Upon seeing the expression of shock on my face, he said, ‘Oh, yes, he told me how you planned your sick little seduction and led him astray. Your duties as a valet are at an end. You are clearly not up to the standard of a gentleman's personal gentleman, nor even that of a footman, and you will return to your post as a houseman. Is all of that also understood?’

I looked at him helplessly as he crushed my hopes and aspirations with a few words. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. You may go.’

I went.

***

As Jeeves brought this narrative to a close, I was utterly stunned. Gobsmacked, even. This tale had frozen the cockles of my heart and turned the marrow of my bones to jelly. It was the worst – yes, the absolute worst – thing I had ever heard in all my years upon the earth. How could such things be? And how could anyone ever want to hurt Jeeves in such a way? My valet was an absolute marvel. Patient, capable, brilliant beyond measure… a perfect gem. It was completely beyond me how anyone could ever do such a thing to another person, but to do such a thing to Jeeves? I didn't know if I could bear to hear any more. I wasn't bally well sure I could bear to hear what I had already heard.

As he stopped speaking, I realized that I was lying as stiff as a board in his arms, my mouth open in dumb horror. I further realized that Jeeves was not looking at me, and was instead gazing out over me, as if looking at something in the far distance that only he could see. Which couldn't be, really, since there was just the bedroom wall a few feet away, and there was nothing much of interest on it anyway. 

I dragged a bit of air into my lungs and forced my limbs to relax out of their _rigor mortis_ -like state, then I looked up at Jeeves, attempting to catch his gaze. He would not meet my eye, instead focusing on the bit of pillow next to my head as if attempting to determine the thread-count of the pillowcase personally. I noticed that he was trembling very slightly – someone standing even a few feet away wouldn't have been able to observe it, but held as I was within his arms I could feel the tremors.

I am a rather silly young blighter, and I have never understood why Jeeves hangs about taking care of me instead of biffing off to run the League of Nations or whatnot. I suppose I never shall. However, in this instant, I knew that there was at least some small way I could begin to repay him for all that he had done for me. He needed me to be strong for him. He - viz. Jeeves, needed me, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, to be the strong one. The thought was bally well incredible, yet there it was. How could I fail him in this, when he had never once failed me? I rallied and pulled myself together, feeling a surge of something-or-other shoot through me.

I put my palm on his cheek and guided his face around until he was looking at me. ‘Jeeves,’ I began, and I'm dashed if my voice didn't come out without a single quaver, despite the sensation of having two rather large and angry coves wrestling in my innards. ‘I can't begin to tell you, old thing, how sorry I am that such a thing happened to you. That Highstead fiend deserves to be taken out and shot. I have half a mind to do it myself, in fact. I hope you know, Jeeves, that what happened was not your fault, and it doesn't change anything – between us, I mean to say. I still love you just the same. More, even, if such a thing were possible, which it isn't really, since I already loved you as much as ever a chap could love another. Not that I know that much about chaps loving other chaps, but…’ I broke off at this point, since it appeared I was beginning to babble. It has been known to happen from time to time – just ask any of my aunts. They'll give you the goods.

In any case, I appeared to have got my meaning across, and Jeeves relaxed a bit. He looked into my eyes with relief, and, if I'm not quite mistaken, not a little love on his normally impassive features. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘I confess that I am relieved at your reaction. I would understand, however, if you no longer wished to share intimacy with me.’

‘Not share intimacy with you? Have you gone off your onion? Jeeves, I love you! We have an agreement, you know, old fellow – till death do us part and all that. I intend to honour that agreement, and I hope that you do as well.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ he said with feeling. Then he paused for a few moments ‘I will admit to experiencing a certain sensation of… liberation in finally speaking of these events.’ He dropped a gentle kiss on my forehead, and I smiled up at him. Then a thought occurred to me. 

‘Hang on, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘You still haven't told me how your nose got broken!’

‘I am coming to that, sir,’ he said solemnly. ‘I am afraid, sir, that my tale is not yet complete.’

‘Oh, well, carry on then,’ I said, trying not to be too terrified by the fact that there was more to come. He knew exactly how I felt, though – the man reads me like a bally book. 

‘If you wish me to stop now, I will,’ he said. ‘I must warn you that this tale has several more disturbing turns. My circumstances became… worse, before they improved.’ 

I had a sudden image of those large Australian birds – the ones that shove their heads into holes in the ground. I'd always thought it a dashed odd thing to do, but suddenly I understood the impulse. Jeeves would stop if I asked him to, and would never speak of this again. But then he would have to carry this burden all alone for the rest of his life… the thought was deuced well intolerable.

Suddenly I felt rather ashamed. Here I was cogitating on whether I had the bravery to even _listen_ to Jeeves's tale, when he had had to _live_ the thing. This was the man I loved, and I wanted to know what made him tick, especially if speaking of his past would bring him some small measure of comfort. 

I swallowed hard and looked straight into Jeeves's eyes. ‘I want to hear the rest, Jeeves.’

He nodded soberly and continued.

My life became… unpleasant, as you may suppose. Philip had been hastily sent from the house to complete his education at a foreign boarding-school. I had been demoted from my position as valet, the one position that it had been my life's ambition to hold. I had no alternative but to inform my parents of the fact, although of course I did not give the true reasons. They were immensely disappointed in me, supposing that I had been found inadequate. I also had no choice but to visit Mr Highstead's study on a regular basis. Approximately two or three times a month, I should estimate, although sometimes more often, especially at first. He seemed to feel that he had to have some excuse to summon me to his study for punishment, so he would find some way in which I had not satisfactorily performed my duties, singling me out over even minor imperfections for which other servants were never criticized. I became more careful in attending to my chores so as not to give him any excuse to punish me. This, of course, only infuriated him more, and when he did find some trifling flaw in my work, his rage and satisfaction knew no bounds. 

Gossip travels quickly in a manor-house, especially among servants. While none of the servants would dare to say anything aloud, especially where it could be heard by Highstead, I began to hear whispers as I walked down the corridors. The bullying, which had previously stopped, started up again, albeit in a different form. I was never directly confronted, but instead nearly every day would be ‘accidentally’ tripped, shoved, or elbowed by one of the other boys, such that I was nearly always nursing a bruise or scrape of some sort. The ‘accidental’ push was often accompanied by a _sotto voce_ word or two, always too quiet for me to be entirely sure what had been said. It was done in such a way that there was nothing to report, no one to blame. If I had attempted to do so, I would merely have been labelled a tale-teller, and the abuse would have become worse, so I held my tongue. 

At first, my circumstances seemed entirely bleak. I was able to function during the day, but I must confess to experiencing bouts of painful emotion during the night. As months passed, however, I realized that emotion would avail me naught, and that no one else would step in to improve my lot. None of the other servants were willing to risk their own positions in order to assist me, and most had never liked me. There seemed to be a general consensus that I was receiving my just desserts. On the occasion of my sixteenth birthday, I determined that I would stifle my emotions, and take what measures I could to protect myself. 

As I have already mentioned, I had learned to take extra care in my work to ensure that I did not give Mr Highstead any excuse to call me into his study. Now I became even more zealous about performing every aspect of my duties with absolute precision, so as to be above reproach in this area. I also began observing the other boys when they fought. The other servant boys fought often – sometimes in scuffles that broke out over some insult or disagreement, but often in organised boxing matches which were well-attended by the other servants and were always the source of much speculation and wagering. I studied the most successful fighters' techniques, and in my free time, in addition to continuing my scholarly studies, I crept away to an empty stable and practised these techniques on a feed bag that I had suspended from the rafters with a sturdy piece of rope. My somewhat exceptional height had begun to become obvious at this point, but I was still gangly and awkward. With long hours of practise, however, I began to fill out and gain some strength.

When Alfred Conway, the old stable-master, discovered me at my practise, he began to assist me, offering instruction to improve my technique, and occasionally even sparring with me himself, when his painful joints permitted. He was an interesting character – as I learned when I came to know him, he had been quite a celebrated fighter in his younger days. He also taught me some less-than-strictly honourable tactics, which have come in quite useful over the years. He became an acquaintance, and then a friend. Although he was an ‘outdoor’ servant, one of the grounds staff, and thus considered beneath the notice of the house servants, he was a good man, and a source of much useful information. I learned that allies of any variety, high or low, were never something at which to turn up one's nose. 

None of this would avail me against Highstead directly, of course – mere physical force was not at issue. He could ruin me with a word. And if I had dared to speak out against him, his word would be believed over mine. However, after a few carefully considered yet seemingly spontaneous physical confrontations with other serving boys, the bullying did at least lessen. I had to take care that no word of my fighting should read Highstead's ears, as it would have provided him another excuse to punish me, but the boys with whom I fought, while bullies and cowards at heart, did have a code of honour of sorts, which did not include reporting fights to our superiors.

I did have one other ally – the first person who had shown me kindness in this house – Mrs Sneddon, the cook. She had continued to watch over me as well as she could. She had no direct power over Highstead, but she had absolute control over her kitchen, and she ensured that it was a haven for me. I continued my studies at the hearth – although I was no longer permitted to go into town for lessons, she borrowed books from the village schoolmaster for me. I wrote out assignments and essays, and she passed them to the schoolmaster, passing back his corrections and suggestions. I never met the schoolmaster directly, but I am grateful to him to this day for taking on an extra pupil, one he had never even seen. Eventually, she passed me word that he had taught me all he could, and that he encouraged me to continue my studies independently. With her assistance, I did so – she kept a lookout for me while I crept into the master's library late at night to borrow books. The risk was serious, and I knew the consequences should I be discovered would be severe, but the lure of knowledge was too great to resist. On a few occasions, I was nearly caught, but I always managed to escape undetected.

I did, finally, discover one weapon that I could use against Highstead. It came to me at a time when it seemed to me that my circumstances could become no worse. 

Christmas had just passed, and the winter was bitterly cold. Illness claimed many in England that season, although we at Abington Chase were fortunate in that we had no contagion within our walls. Others, however, were not so fortunate. On January the third, I received a telegram that both of my parents had succumbed to pneumonia. I did not dare ask Highstead for leave to attend the funeral, for fear of what payment he would extract in return for the favour. My sister had been sent to live with an aunt, and the little that my parents left behind would go to support her, although it would not be sufficient. My aunt lived on a pension and could not support my sister on her own. I had saved nearly every penny of my small salary to that point; it did not amount to much, but I sent it to my sister, in care of my aunt. Although you may suppose that my parents' death freed me from Highstead's tyranny, in fact it did not. I was more in need than ever of my meagre wages to help support my sister, and could even less afford to have my name besmirched, as this would make it impossible for me to find any other position.

The death of my parents was a blow. Not only because of the practical difficulties of supporting my sister, but because I genuinely grieved their loss. I had hardly seen them over the preceding several years, and they had gone to their deaths disappointed in me and my prospects. I shall always regret that.

On top of this came another shock. Philip Leighton was coming to Abington Chase for a short stay. He had taken the Christmas holidays in Switzerland with his parents, but the Leightons were returning to Abington for the rest of Philip's holidays from school. I had, of course, thought of him frequently over the preceding months, and had wondered how he was faring. Often, I had wondered whether what Highstead had said was true – that he had blamed me for seducing him. I did not want to credit it, and yet I was not certain. I knew that I would have to find an opportunity to speak to him alone; I knew equally well that it would be almost impossible to find such an opportunity, as both Highstead and Mr Leighton would be watching us closely.

I had my chance quite unexpectedly one day, when I was on my way out to the stable to visit Conway. I saw Philip slip out of the house by the side door and head for the garden. It was bitterly cold and the grounds were covered in a thin layer of snow and ice, so no one else had stirred from the house. I quickly moved to follow him. I intercepted him in the garden, in a small, hidden nook surrounded by shrubbery, where we could not be seen from the main house. He looked just as beautiful as when I had seen him last – a bit older, perhaps, but with the same graceful features and the same golden hair through which I used to run my fingers as his head bent over a book.

I reached out and touched his shoulder, and he started. He turned sharply, and when I first looked into his eyes there was no spark of recognition. He quickly realized who I was and I saw memory come flooding back to him, but it was a shock to me to realize that I had changed so much in a single year that I had become unrecognizable to Philip, who had known me as no other had. 

‘Reginald, you shouldn't be here,’ he said.

‘I had to see you again. How – how have you been?’ I asked, cursing my own inanity.

‘Ah, Reginald, I have been languishing in abject misery,’ he said with a dramatic sigh. ‘My life has been hell. Exiled from the bosom of my family, thrown to the wolves, forced to attend a horrid school filled with horrid boys and run by horrid taskmasters. Why, Reginald, we are made to wear uniforms every single day! You can't imagine how I have suffered. You are fortunate, Reginald.’

I could not begin to form a response to this, so I simply regarded him in stunned silence for a moment. 

He seemed to take my silence as assent. ‘Ah, well, you couldn't have known, I suppose. I am sorry if you suffered any slight inconvenience when I told Highstead that you had… well… seduced me, but you simply don't understand the position I was in. As it was, my father absolutely hit the roof. If he had imagined that I was anything other than an unwitting victim, well, I would have been cut off entirely – not a penny to my name!’

I found my voice. ‘Slight inconvenience?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Did you give any thought at all about what would happen to me?’

‘What could possibly happen to you, Reginald?’ he asked in a reasonable tone of voice, as if speaking to a fractious child. ‘You don't have a future to destroy, as I do. My father wanted to fire you on the spot, but Highstead and I persuaded him not to. Highstead said that he would see that you were dealt with appropriately. I am sorry that you were punished – some matter of a demotion, I understand. Nevertheless, I can see that you have done well – you look hale and hearty, and handsomer than ever. You should be grateful to him.’

Once again, I was rendered speechless. He filled the silence. ‘I know, dear Reginald, how much you must have missed me. And now you come and find me like this. It is understandable, of course, but truly, it isn't safe for me. I am sorry, but I must ask you to leave and not make any more foolish attempts to contact me. It will be difficult, I know, but it is for the best.’

In that moment, the scales fell from my eyes, and I saw Philip as he really was – not the romantic figure that I had been imagining and whose absence I had been lamenting, but a spoiled, self-absorbed boy who could no more think of others' troubles than he could grow wings and fly. Any remaining tenderness I had been harbouring for him died. I felt terribly disillusioned. 

He clearly expected me to make some protest, to attempt to persuade him to allow me to stay. I turned and walked away without a word, leaving him open-mouthed behind me. 

I was at my usual spot in the kitchen by the hearth, contemplating this encounter, along with my sadness regarding my parents' death and the financial strain of supporting my sister, when another blow came. Mrs Sneddon found me and told me, as gently as she could, that she had decided to retire from service at Abington. She was quite elderly at this point, and could no longer continue to run the kitchen. She had a son in Devon who would take her in, and with her savings she would be able to live comfortably. I understood, of course, but this news in combination with the other ill tidings I had already received left me quite in despair. 

She must have seen it on my face. She moved to comfort me, but I flinched away. I had never been physically demonstrative, but since the events of the preceding months I had come to avoid all but the most necessary physical contact with other persons. 

She drew back and nodded, seeming to have come to some kind of decision, though I could not imagine what. I returned to my post and thought no more about it. That evening, as I was reading at the kitchen hearth, she sat beside me. She gave me a small phial and explained to me that it contained sleeping-drops, obtained from the chemist in the village, a particular friend of hers. One or two drops in a glass of liquid would cause a grown man to become drowsy; four or five drops would cause him to lose consciousness immediately. She told me that the druggist would be expecting me if the bottle needed replenishing. Then she wished me a good night and retired for the evening.

My head was spinning with the implications of this gift. I firmly believe that Mrs Sneddon merely intended me to use the drops to make Highstead too sleepy to summon me to his study; she was in the habit of preparing a pot of tea for him in the afternoon, which he drank while he was reviewing the household books in his study. It would be simplicity itself for me to introduce the drops into his tea. Often, I could predict upon which days I would be summoned simply by gauging his mood as he moved through the house during the day; on those days in which he was in a particularly ill temper, I could use the drops.

However, another thought occurred to me – if several drops induced unconsciousness, what might the entire contents of the bottle do? With this thought in mind, I stole into the library that night, where I knew Mr Leighton had a book which listed various chemicals and their effects. I learned, as I had suspected, that an overdose of this particular drug would cause certain death – a death which resembled heart failure suffered while the victim was sleeping. It was not an unpleasant way to die. 

Such was my unhappiness at that point that I was not certain whether I would rather use the drug on Highstead or simply take the entire bottle myself. I slept little that night, contemplating my options. Eventually I decided not to take any hasty action, but to keep this information in mind for possible future use. I did determine to use a small amount of the substance in Highstead's tea the following day, as a trial. 

It worked precisely as anticipated. I made certain to be in the kitchen when Mrs Sneddon was boiling the water for his tea, and introduced three drops into the small teapot, which held enough hot water for two cups of tea. A housemaid carried the tea tray in to his study, and I returned to my duties. As was her routine, approximately an hour later the maid returned to the study to pick up the tray. I went back to the kitchen to await her return – she usually shared a few moments of gossip with Mrs Sneddon before returning to her duties. She was accustomed to seeing me in the kitchen and gave it no thought. 

She told Mrs Sneddon with a giggle that upon retrieving the tea things, she had discovered Highstead fast asleep, with his head upon the desk, snoring loudly. She had crept out with the tray, leaving him undisturbed. They both tutted over this lapse on his part, Mrs Sneddon throwing me a conspiratorial glance. 

From that day forward, I monitored Highstead's moods closely. When he appeared to be in a temper, or had found some trifling reason to be displeased with me, I introduced three sleeping drops into his afternoon tea. The servants' gossip network spread the word of his afternoon naps, and it was generally agreed that his advancing age was the cause of these lapses. Of course, no one dared confront him directly about it, or report him to the Leightons, but at least no one seemed to suspect any foul play. Highstead himself said nothing on the subject, perhaps himself believing that age was taking its toll, and not wishing to risk his position as head of the household servants by discussing the matter. 

Thus, the incidents of being called to his study decreased sharply. The episodes did not cease altogether – on certain days, I simply could not predict whether I would be summoned, and I did not always dare to use the drops – if he was in an ill humour for several days in a row, for instance, I did not dare to use them every day. Nevertheless, any lessening of these occurrences was welcome.

Approximately one month after giving me the drops, Mrs Sneddon completed her moving arrangements, and retired from service. Her departure was more difficult than I had anticipated; she was the closest thing to a friend that I had within the household. The kitchen had been a sanctuary for me, and with the arrival of the new cook, a phlegmatic and intolerant woman of German extraction, that was lost to me as well, as she had no patience for a houseman taking up space in her demesne. It also became more difficult, though by no means impossible, to introduce the drops into Highstead's tea. 

Still, on balance, my circumstances were tolerable, if not enjoyable. I spent many evenings out in the stables reading by the light of a lantern, or talking with Alfred Conway. I performed my duties easily by this time; they were no challenge. I used the sleeping drops as frequently as I dared, and I continued my clandestine night-time visits to the library to borrow books, although now without the protection of Mrs Sneddon to provide a watch for me.

My seventeenth birthday came and went, and life went on in this manner. It was at this point that I made a grievous error in judgment. I knew that Conway enjoyed a glass of Scotch now and again, particularly on cold evenings. I had managed to put by enough of my wages, apart from what I sent to my sister, to purchase a bottle of his favourite brand, Glenlivet. I had procured the bottle a few days earlier, when I went into the village on my day off. In previous times, I would have stored it in the kitchen and Mrs Sneddon would have ensured that it remained undisturbed. However, since Mrs Sneddon was gone, I was forced to leave the bottle in its brown wrapper underneath my bed in the room that I shared with several other serving-boys.

Lower-ranking servants at a manor house have very little privacy. It is not uncommon for one's personal effects to be searched by curious fellow employees. In any event, several of the younger boys discovered the spirits under my bed, stole the bottle, and proceeded to become inebriated and cause a disturbance in front of the Leightons. Mr Leighton had sharp words with Highstead for failing to adequately supervise his staff. When Highstead interrogated the boys, they admitted that they had acquired the alcohol from among my possessions.

I learned these details later; the first I heard of the matter was when Highstead found me in a little-used, out-of-the-way corridor, where I had snuck away from my duties momentarily to read a few pages of Cicero's _De republica_. I'm afraid that I had become rather absorbed in my reading and I failed to detect his arrival. Before I even knew he was present, he had hauled me upright by my collar and slammed me face-first into the stone wall of the corridor. My face immediately exploded with searing pain, and I heard my nose break with a loud crack. Blood started pouring down and tears sprang to my eyes. My book fell to the ground, unheeded.

Highstead pressed against my back and hissed into my ear, more furious than I had ever heard him. ‘You've always thought you were too good for service in this house, too good for the rest of us. You even think you're better than I. Always sneaking about with a book – don't think I haven't noticed. I know everything that happens in this house. I was willing to grant you a certain – leeway. But when you cause me to be humiliated in front of the Leightons, cause me to be chastised as if I were a child…’ he broke off, breathing heavily. ‘I think it's time you were taught a lesson. Clearly I have been too lenient with you.’

He turned me around and pushed me down, forcing me to my knees. He unfastened his trousers, revealing his state of arousal. Then he grasped my jaw and forced himself down my throat, gagging me. Because my nose was filled with blood, I could not breathe. I began choking. He pulled out after a few moments and I gasped a breath, and then he forced himself back into my mouth, grasping the back of my head to keep me still while he thrust. He repeated this process several times, each time waiting until I felt faint from lack of oxygen before pulling back momentarily. The blood pouring down my face entered my mouth and I could taste the coppery tang of my own blood on his phallus.

Finally he tired of this sport and pulled me back up. He undid my trousers while I stood swaying, disoriented and light-headed. He pushed me face-first against the wall once more. When my nose again made contact with the stone, my vision dimmed and I nearly lost consciousness. Then he violated me, his shaft lubricated with my own blood and saliva. He was not gentle. When he had finished, he stepped back, and I slid to the floor, unable to move. He cleaned himself off with his handkerchief and straightened his clothing. 

The intensity of his anger seemed to have vanished. ‘I'm sorry that this lesson had to go so hard on you, Reginald,’ he said in a mild tone. ‘I hope you understand that you brought this upon yourself. I had no desire to punish you in this manner, but you left me with no alternative.’ He looked at me with faint disgust. ‘Pull yourself together, Reginald. Clean up and return to your duties. I shall expect to see you at your post within a quarter of an hour.’ Then he walked away, leaving me on the stone floor of the corridor.

***

‘Jeeves!’ I choked out. By this time, I'm not ashamed to admit, the tears were flowing pretty freely. 

Jeeves seemed to suddenly remember himself, as if he had been miles away during the retelling. He immediately looked at me with concern, and tenderly wiped the tears from my face with his fingertips. Then he gathered me close to him and I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his unique scent and feeling his solid form against me. It was dashed reassuring, somehow.

‘I am sorry, sir,’ he said softly.

This only caused more tears to well up – I seemed to be turning into quite a watering-pot. ‘You – _you're_ sorry?’ I sniffled incredulously, my words a bit muffled against his neck. I pulled back a bit so I could look into his eyes as I spoke. ‘You've done nothing to be sorry for. Jeeves, _I_ am sorry, on behalf of all of mankind. I may not understand your 'psychology of the individual' wheeze very well, Jeeves, but even I can tell that this fellow is pure evil. I don't quite know why such things are permitted to happen. I suppose that's more Stinker Pinker's line than mine. I just wish I could do something to make it better.’ 

I snuffled some more, and Jeeves produced a handkerchief from somewhere. I have no idea where he keeps the blasted things – he hadn't a stitch on, but he still managed to conjure one and mop up the fluids dripping down the Wooster dial.

‘Believe me, sir, you do.’ He sounded rather impassioned, in his restrained, Jeevesian way.

‘I don't quite see how,’ I said doubtfully.

‘Nevertheless, sir, it is true,’ he assured me. 

‘How is it, Jeeves, that you are not more distressed by this? I'm practically causing a flood in our bedroom and you are a veritable rock, yet these are your experiences. I don't understand, Jeeves.’ My lower lip was still distressingly quivery and my voice was a bit wobbly as well. 

‘Sir, as you know, I am not given to free displays of emotion. In addition, you are naturally shocked and upset at hearing this tale for the first time. However, sir, I confess that I am not entirely unaffected.’ He gave me the most stunningly unguarded look I've ever seen from him – it was as if I could see his very soul, laid bare before me in the blue of his eyes. 

In that moment, I had a sudden flash of inspiration – it was quite a strange sensation, as I am not accustomed to moments of brilliance. Ask anybody of my acquaintance and they'll confirm that Bertram is not the brainiest cove around. My Aunt Agatha will be glad to give you full particulars with dozens of illustrative anecdotes.

But just now, I suddenly understood that in some odd way, I was expressing both Jeeves's and my own grief, since he couldn't express it himself. Dashed rummy, I know, but there it was. The thought of my brave, strong valet having too much self-control to mourn for his own past made me even sadder, somehow, and I welled up again. I was certainly giving Madeline Bassett healthy competition in the sentimentality department today. I pulled Jeeves to me and kissed him tenderly, putting all my sorrow and love into my actions, since my oratorical skills were bally well not up to this challenge.

Finally, and a bit reluctantly on my part at least, we separated. For some moments we merely held each other. Finally Jeeves spoke.

‘Shall I continue, sir?’ he asked. 

I settled myself into a comfortable position in his arms. ‘Carry on, Jeeves.’

***

I passed the rest of the day in… almost a trance, I suppose. I must have cleaned myself up and gone about my duties in the usual way, because no one remarked on my behaviour or appearance. Nevertheless, to this day I cannot remember a moment of the events between Highstead's last words to me and the point in time that evening when I found myself in front of Conway's quarters out in the stableyard. When the door swung open, he took one look at me and sighed. He waved me in with a gesture and closed the door behind me.

‘What's old Highstead done this time?’ he asked.

I started. I had never discussed my difficulties with him, or indeed with anyone. 

‘Yes, my lad, I hear and see more'n you might think. Highstead's always had a bit of an eye for a handsome young thing. Soon as I saw you, I knew you was his type. I figured that's why you needed the fightin' lessons.’

I couldn't find any words to respond to this, so I merely stood silently.

‘'S all right, you don't have to say nothin',’ he said gruffly. ‘Lemme have a look at that nose of yours.’

I had forgotten about my broken nose; I felt no pain at all. I felt nothing, in fact, except a blessed numbness. That changed as soon as Conway touched my nose with his gnarled fingers. I hissed in pain and reared back.

‘Easy, easy,’ he soothed, as if calming a spooked horse. ‘I know it hurts. But I've got to get a look at it. If I don' set it, it'll heal crooked. Be a shame to mar that pretty face.’

‘Leave it,’ I said with sudden determination. That ‘pretty face,’ as Conway put it, had never won me anything except unhappiness. ‘I don't want you to set it.’

He looked at me with understanding. ‘A'right then, I won' set it. But at least lemme make up a poultice for you and fetch a cold cloth. It's goin' to swell up right fierce.’

I let him do that much, and we sat together for a time. He kept up the flow of conversation, relating amusing anecdotes from his past. I'm afraid my thoughts were elsewhere, and I responded very little, but he graciously ignored my inattentiveness.

I had determined that I could no longer suffer Highstead's abuse. I had reached such a point of desperation that I cared little if I lost my position or if my name were ruined. I could not go on as I had been. As Conway continued to speak, my eyes fell on the rack of implements behind him. He had many pieces of equipment for tending to the horses under his care, including several lancets – blades which were used for bloodletting. I knew that Conway took special care to keep them honed to razor sharpness. 

I feigned a wince after a few more moments and put my hand to my nose; Conway quickly rose to his feet. 

‘Let me wet that cloth for you again, lad,’ he said with concern. He bustled off to do so. While he was gone, I selected one of the lancets – a smaller specimen, with a blade which folded into a carved horn handle. I hid it in my pocket and sat back down, awaiting Conway's return. We talked for a while longer; I did not wish to return to the main house right away, and I believe that Conway understood that. Finally, however, the old man could not stifle a yawn, and I took my leave, thanking him for his kindness.

I returned to my room and bided my time until the rest of the house had gone to bed. Then I lit a candle and crept into Highstead's room – he had his own bedchamber, albeit a small one. I set the candle on his nightstand, took the lancet out of my pocket and unfolded it. Then I held the blade next to his throat. I stood above him for a time, considering my alternatives. I could easily end his life with a flick of my wrist. I will admit that I was sorely tempted to do so. In the end, however, I could not bring myself to cold-blooded murder. I shook him awake with a hand on his shoulder, still holding the blade near his throat with my other hand.

He awoke with a start. ‘Reginald? What are you doing?’ he asked, confused. I lowered the blade until the cold metal touched the skin of his throat. He jerked slightly but quickly stilled.

I looked into his eyes and spoke with two years' worth of pent-up hatred. ‘You will never touch me again. You will never call me into your study again. You will never so much as look at me improperly again. If you do any of these things, you will not receive another warning. I will creep into your room at night and slit your throat. Do you understand?’

He looked frightened and shaky. He nodded once, and swallowed hard. This caused his Adam's apple to move slightly, and the edge of the blade cleanly parted the skin there. It was only a shallow cut, but immediately a drop of blood welled up. I felt slightly sick. He no longer appeared as the devil of my imaginings, but merely a terrified old man. Still, remembering all that he had inflicted upon me, my resolve returned. I could not relent now.

I looked at him one moment more, letting him see in my eyes that I meant every word of my threat. Then I removed the blade from his throat, picked up my candle, and left. That night, I slept soundly for the first time in many months.

For the next two weeks, I had little contact with Highstead. I was assigned the meanest of the chores, and was given more responsibilities than any two other servants, but I did not complain. It was better than the alternative. I worked myself into exhaustion every day, and slept heavily every night. 

Eventually, though, I began to adjust to the workload. My nose slowly healed, although as Conway had predicted, it had set crookedly. I did not mind – in a way, I considered it a badge of honour. None of the servants knew exactly what had transpired, but they knew that I was no longer beholden to Highstead, and they looked at me with grudging respect and a touch of fear. I still had no friends among the house staff, but at least I was no longer an object of contempt. _Oderint dum metuant_ , I told myself – let them hate, as long as they fear. 

I had greatly missed my forays into Mr Leighton's library, and, feeling emboldened by my success in intimidating Highstead, and my newfound standing among the other servants, I decided to creep into the library to borrow a book one evening. I was perusing the shelves by the light of a single candle when I heard the door open behind me. I spun around, panicked.

Standing in the room with a candle of his own was a man I had seen arrive at the house. He was valet to a guest staying with the Leightons, a Lord Yardley. I did not know this gentleman's name, however, nor did I know how he would react to my presence in this room. Clearly I had no business being there at that time of night. However – after I had considered the matter for a moment, I realized that neither did he.

‘What are you doing in here?’ I asked, without pausing to consider how impolitic the question was.

Fortunately, it seemed to amuse rather than offend him. ‘My employer is having difficulty sleeping, and asked me to find him something dull to read. Are you suffering from insomnia as well, young master…?’ his voice trailed off – clearly he was waiting for me to introduce myself.

I blushed at my display of poor manners. ‘Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Reginald Jeeves.’ I awkwardly offered my hand to him.

He shook it with a gentle chuckle. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, young master Jeeves,’ he said. ‘I am Richard Armstrong. I am Lord Yardley's personal gentleman.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘I saw you arrive this afternoon.’

‘Ah, did you now? Well, then you have the advantage of me. You know who I am and my position. What do you do, young master Jeeves?’

‘I… I am a houseman, sir.’

‘I see. And how do you enjoy working here at Abington Chase?’

I frowned a bit. I was unsure of how to answer – I did not wish to dissemble, but at the same time I was reluctant to speak ill of my employers or the other servants. He seemed to sense my hesitation.

‘I am sorry, young master Jeeves. I did not intend to pry. May I ask, then, what you are planning to read? And if you have any recommendations for something that will put Lord Yardley to sleep?’

We spoke then for some considerable time about literature. As it turned out, he was quite well-read, and had enjoyed many of the same works that I had. Eventually, though, he brought the discussion to a close.

‘Well, young master Jeeves, I must be getting back, or Lord Yardley will wonder what has become of me. I am surprised, I must say, to find out that you are a member of the between staff, when you are obviously an intelligent, educated young man. Have you any higher aspirations?’

I decided to be forthcoming. ‘Yes, sir. It has always been my ambition to be a gentleman's personal gentleman.’

‘I am gratified to hear it,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘I would imagine that you have all of the qualities required, young master Jeeves, so why is it that you have not yet been assigned a gentleman to serve?’

‘I was found… inadequate for that position,’ I said stiffly.

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘And did you agree with that assessment?’ he asked gently.

‘No, sir,’ I said, surprising myself with my own boldness.

‘Let me make a confession, young master Jeeves,’ he said. ‘I will ask you to keep it in confidence.’

‘Of course, sir,’ I said seriously.

‘I have never seen eye-to-eye with Walter Highstead,’ he said. ‘I consider him to be a pompous ass who wouldn't know potential if it hit him over the head. If he has been the one holding you back, then in my mind that is a point in your favour.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said quietly. ‘Confidentially, then, Mr Highstead is indeed the person who has determined that I will not become a valet, but instead stay in my current position.’

‘I suspected as much,’ he said. ‘However, I think you have great promise, young master Jeeves. I believe that you would make an excellent gentleman's personal gentleman. If you are still interested in pursuing that ambition, I believe I can secure a position for you. Lord Yardley's young nephew will be coming to live with us in London and will require a valet. I believe that you would be suited for this position, and if you accepted, you would be my apprentice, as it were. Would such an arrangement interest you?’ 

I could hardly believe my own ears. If this were true… ‘Yes, sir,’ I said eagerly.

‘Very well then,’ he said firmly. ‘I shall arrange the matter and have a letter outlining the proposition sent to you shortly. And now, I must return to Lord Yardley. It was very nice speaking to you, young master Jeeves.’

We shook hands once again and he left, taking with him a book of philosophy for his employer.

I did not have another opportunity to speak with him, but I saw him occasionally in the corridors, and each time he smiled and nodded at me. After a week's stay, Lord Yardley departed from Abington Chase, and Richard Armstrong with him. 

I passed each day after that in a fever of impatience, hoping that the post would bring an offer of employment. Several weeks passed, however, with no letter, and I began to despair. I imagined that Mr Armstrong had forgotten about his promise, or had reconsidered. I cursed myself for allowing myself the luxury of hope. It was difficult to continue in my old routine, since I had believed that I would be departing soon, only to find that the days stretched before me, endless and monotonous.

Then one day, my fortunes changed. I received a letter from Lord Yardley formally offering me a position as valet to his nephew. I went to the stables immediately, to show the letter to Conway. I daresay he was nearly as pleased as I was. We shared a drink together to celebrate, and then I went back to the house. I went directly to Highstead's study – the place still held terrible memories for me, but I wanted to put this unpleasant interview behind me. I told him coldly that I had been offered employment elsewhere and I was giving my two weeks' notice. His face twisted with rage as he received this news, but he quickly controlled himself, merely nodding and telling me that my resignation was accepted. I took my leave of him with a sense of profound relief.

The next several days seemed interminable. Highstead piled duties upon me, seeming determined to make my last days under him as unpleasant as possible. I did the work without complaint – he could no longer hurt me.

However, it was at this time that I made an observation. There was a new hall-boy at Abington, Thomas Fleming. He was fourteen years of age, but small for his age, and quiet. I had hardly noticed him previously – I rarely paid any heed to the comings and goings of the other servants. But something about young Thomas arrested my attention, although I could not say what. 

Then, the day before I was to leave Abington Chase for my new position, I heard the housemaid tell Thomas that he had been summoned to see Highstead in his study. I saw his flinch, and I knew instantly what was occurring. There was nothing I could do at that moment, but I watched him walk down the corridor leading to that room where I had spent so many hours, and I found myself trembling – with rage, sadness, and remembered fear.

That evening, I pulled Thomas aside. I gave him the sleeping drops that Mrs Sneddon had first given me, and which I had had refilled many times since. I carefully explained to him the uses of the drug, the best method to introduce the drug, and the effects of overdose. I told him that if he used my name with the chemist in the village, he could obtain more of the drops. I did not tell him that I understood what he was experiencing, but he could see it in my eyes, I have no doubt. He nodded solemnly and took the phial.

The next morning, quite early, I said brief farewells to the other house servants. Then I went out to take my leave of Conway. I would miss him – other than Mrs Sneddon, he had been my only friend at Abington. He walked with me to the village, waiting with me for the train which would take me to London to begin my new position. When the train arrived, we said good-bye, shook hands, and I put Abington Chase behind me.

***

At this point, Jeeves seemed to run out of oomph, like a wind-up toy that has run down. I had almost forgotten that this was his life story, rather than some romantic novel full of evil villains and dashing heroes. I came back to reality with quite a thud.

‘But – but that can't be the end of it, Jeeves!’ I said.

‘Of course it was not the end of my story, sir,’ he said. ‘But that is the pertinent portion. You asked how my nose came to be so 'charmingly crooked,' to use your words, and I have told you.’

‘But what happened to Highstead? And Conway? And Thomas what's-his-name?’ I was agog with curiosity. I rather hoped that Highstead had met with an unpleasant end. Otherwise, I might be tempted to arrange one myself.

‘Some months after I had begun service in Lord Yardley's household, I received word that only a few days after I had left Abington Chase, Highstead had died peacefully in his sleep of a heart attack, sir.’

‘Well, I must say I consider that end a dashed sight too easy for him. I rather wish he had suffered more.’ Then a thought occurred to me. ‘Wait a minute, Jeeves – you said that a large dose of the sleeping drops that you gave Thomas had that effect!’ 

‘Indeed, sir. No foul play was suspected, and apparently the local doctor gave a certificate of Death by Natural Causes. However, I believe it is quite likely that Thomas administered a massive dose of the sleeping drops. I will never know for certain, sir. I never heard anything more of Thomas.’

‘What of Conway?’ I asked.

‘Alfred Conway died several years later, sir,’ he said. ‘I never saw him again, but I sent him my regards through Richard Armstrong on several occasions when that gentleman was going with Lord Yardley to Abington Chase.’

‘And what about the Armstrong fellow? And Mrs Sneddon?’

‘I never heard from Mrs Sneddon again, but Richard Armstrong and I are still on quite intimate terms.’

‘You don't mean that you and he – ‘

‘Oh, no, sir,’ he said, sounding somewhat scandalised. 

‘And… what about Philip Leighton?’ I asked with some trepidation, if that's the word I want. I mean to say, I wasn't quite sure that I wanted Jeeves thinking about the golden-haired Philip and what he might be up to now.

‘I have neither seen nor spoken with Philip Leighton since our conversation in the garden at Abington. The last I heard of him, he was living on the continent, shocking even Parisian high society with his debauchery and profligate ways. He had a serious falling out with his father over his unprincipled behaviour, and Mr Leighton refused to acknowledge his son until the day he died. However, he did not disinherit Philip, and Philip Leighton is now quite wealthy.’

‘Have you ever been back to Abington Chase?’ I was relieved that Jeeves seemed to feel no particular nostalgia for the Leighton chap.

‘No, sir. After Mr Leighton's death, Philip Leighton sold the property. I do not know the new owners, or whether they retained any of the staff. In any event, I have no desire to return.’

‘Yes, I can bally well see why,’ I said. ‘What happened to you after you left? I want to hear about your service with Lord Yardley's nephew.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Another time, perhaps, sir. I must confess that I am feeling a bit fatigued. I am gratified, though, that you are not bored by my life story.’

‘Bored? How could I be bored? No, Jeeves, I am dashed well not bored. I certainly understand that you need a bit of a rest, but another night, perhaps you can continue your tale?’ I looked at him hopefully.

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Er – there's nothing quite so grim in the next bit, is there?’ 

‘No, sir, you have heard the most calamitous of my experiences. Compared with my years at Abington, the rest of my life has been quite agreeable.’

‘I'm glad to hear it, Jeeves.’

Then a thought popped into the old bean, and suddenly I felt dreadfully guilty. I'd only, er, taken Jeeves on one occasion, if you see what I'm getting at, and now I thought I understood why. ‘I say, Jeeves – you don't ever have to… well… you know… do _that_ again if you don't want to. I mean to say, I enjoyed it, of course, but I'm perfectly happy just to do it… ah… the other way round, if you know what I mean.’ I was awfully red at this point, and I wasn't being terribly coherent, but Jeeves appeared to understand me.

He looked at me fondly. ‘It is a generous offer, sir. I will confess that it was somewhat… difficult for me to initiate such relations. Nevertheless, I do trust you, sir, and it was not unpleasant, as I feared it would be. I believe that, in time, I may even come to enjoy that particular form of intimacy.’

‘Well… perhaps just on my birthdays and major holidays?’ I suggested tentatively.

‘I believe that could be arranged, sir,’ he said with faint amusement.

‘Jolly good,’ I said happily.

I settled down into his arms and was silent for a time, idly stroking his chest. I was reflecting on all I had just heard, and I suppose Jeeves was doing the same. Not that he had just heard it, you understand. 

‘Deuced odd how things turn out, isn't it, Jeeves?’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘We've both gone through some pretty rotten things, I mean to say. Not that anything I've experienced compares to what you have, but we've both seen hard times, what?’

‘Very true, sir.’

‘But – well, now we've got each other, and somehow that makes it all seem worth it. Well, for me it is, anyway. I mean – well, what I'm trying to say, Jeeves, is that having you is worth any amount of rotten luck in the past. Of course, I quite understand that you may not feel the same – I'm quite certain that Wooster, B. is not a prize worth suffering what you have.’

‘On the contrary, sir,’ he said. ‘It is true that I have endured certain trials. However, each experience has led me to where I am now, and I would not change that, no matter what the inducement.’ 

I looked at him; he looked at me. I smiled soppily and he gave me a quirk of his expressive mouth in return. 

‘Kiss me, Jeeves,’ I ordered.

‘With pleasure, sir.’

He did so – and the pleasure was entirely mutual.


End file.
